


A Caged Lion

by Cesarinna



Series: Unbound, Unbridled, Undefeated [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Domme, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Femdom, Forced Prostitution, Gentle femdom, Hurt/Comfort, Malesub, Manipulation, Master/Slave, Men Crying, Mistress, Mutual Pining, Older Woman/Younger Man, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Prostitution, Slavery, Submissive Male, Sugar Mommy, Woman on Top, almost, barely an age gap just a few years, eventual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:07:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24087820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cesarinna/pseuds/Cesarinna
Summary: He is an arena fighter who avoids killing and resorts to prostitution to keep a roof over his head. She's a wealthy and controlling woman, utterly in love, and she's done sharing him with anyone with the money to buy him for the night.She gives him an ultimatum, and a week to decide. A week to prove to him exactly why he should risk everything to be with her.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: Unbound, Unbridled, Undefeated [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1680979
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31





	A Caged Lion

**Author's Note:**

> Yay prequels. [Here's a map](https://ibb.co/BcMVrpr) if you need one. 
> 
> You don't need to read my main work, Solace and Anguish, to understand this. But if you want some more of Ascelin, it follows him a few years and a few traumatic events later. Btw, Ascelin is pronounced Ass-sell-en or Ah-sell-en. Your choice.

Blood dripped from the Lion of Filmorn’s fingertips, landing on the sand. He could hear each drop fall, and he wondered if it was his opponent’s or his own. This had gone on too long. They were both on the verge of collapse. 

Ascelin cupped the fresh wound on his bicep. Blood seeped between his fingers. 

He needed to end this. 

The crowd screamed as they stood on opposite sides of the area, struggling to recover whatever energy they had left in them. After years of fighting, he had learned to drown them out. She wasn’t so lucky. The audience unnerved her, and he could use that to his advantage. 

The woman in front of him was stronger than he seemed. When he saw her an hour earlier, he had assumed she was just another one of his admirers, paying an outrageous fee to tousle with him. They knew he wouldn’t kill them if they begged. He didn’t have the heart to, even if his audience craved it.

She was far from a star-struck son or daughter of a rich merchant, vying for a chance to touch him. Yes, she had a slight and unassuming build, but that was under baggy clothing. Now, in arena-issued armor, she looked more than ready to rip him apart. He felt stupid for underestimating her. Fighting adoring fans instead of real warriors had distorted his pride. He was less of a lion and more of a pampered housecat. 

Her brown hair fell into her face, but she didn’t seem bothered by it. He could feel her piercing yellow stare from here. Did he know her somehow? She looked at him like they had despised each other for decades. 

She spun her blades in her hands, showing off to the audience as she stalked closer to him. He stepped back slowly, herding them in a circle. He gripped his sword tighter as she broke into a reckless charge toward him. 

“You can’t run from me, lion!” she roared. 

She was good, yes, but too eager. This woman had a point to prove. She was exhausted, and this was her death rattle, this stupid charge. Forget using the audience to distract her, she was running to her own destruction without their help. 

This was going to be easier than he expected. 

If she weren’t holding two bastardized daggers the length of his forearms, he would have taken this opportunity to flip her while she ran toward him and send her flying face-first into the sand. Instead, he ducked aside. She lost her footing for a moment, and as she tumbled forward, he sprang up and swung his sword into her back. 

The audience erupted. He closed his fists around the hilt of his sword and pulled. 

If this wasn’t his sixth fight of the day, he would have had the strength to send his blade clean through her torso and spare her some pain. He might have even found a way to avoid killing her. 

It was lodged securely in her back. He wrenched it loose as she screamed, a guttural cry as she choked on her own blood. 

He snatched one of her blades from her twitching hands and raised it above her head. The city of Filmorn cheered as he brought it down. 

  
  


He woke in a familiar room, a room he loathed. He fucking hated these eggshell white walls, gilded and brocaded with gold. He sat up in the bed and shoved aside the blankets. How did he get here? The last thing he remembered was the fight. Did his patrons coerce him into drinking after he won? Shit. 

The Patroness must have somehow bribed him into spending the night at her house again. He rubbed his temples, wincing when the wound on his forearm protested. It had been stitched up and bandaged. The Patroness always insisted on sending her doctors to fix up her favorite toy, but he wasn’t hers alone. She shared him with whoever else had the money to buy his attention. That was the price of refusing to kill in the arena, whoring himself out to make enough money to stay in a single-room slum in Filmorn. The audience liked death. Blood was not enough for the city. 

“Lady Egrea!” he called. “Where are you?”

The Patroness emerged in the doorway. She was a tall woman, almost as tall as him. They both towered over most people, but he couldn’t help but feel small compared to her sometimes. He couldn’t read her ageless face, her smoke-pale eyes. She was nothing short of threatening. 

She had a little jewel-encrusted dagger in hand. He had never seen her more than an arm’s reach from it, although she had never used it. She turned it over in her palms as she eyed him. “You’re awake, Cub. Good.” 

Ascelin was wearing only a silk robe that barely covered him. “Last night, did you—”

“Of course not! You were unconscious, bleeding out on some tavern floor, so I brought you home. I turn away for _one_ night, and those other benefactors of yours—” She sneered as if she was imagining the others dead at her feet, spinning the blade between her fingers. “—utterly ruin you. They didn’t even think to bring you to a doctor to treat that cut on your arm. You’re fortunate I found you when I did.”

He drew the robe closer to him. “Thank you, then. How—how long was I asleep?” 

She glanced out the window. “It’s just past noon. Eight hours.” 

“Fuck!” he exclaimed, rushing toward the door. “I have fights today.” 

She held the dagger out between them, a clear order. She would not allow him to leave this room. He considered pushing past her and her little blade, but this woman could buy him fifty times over. She would destroy him if he tried anything. 

“I’ve reserved you for a week,” she said. “Don’t worry about your fights. I’ll pay you double what you would have earned from then.” 

“You can’t just—You can’t just _buy_ me, Lady Egrea. I’m a free man!” he sputtered. 

She tossed a bag of coins toward him. He scrambled to catch it, ripping it open. Before he could count them, she said, “Eighty silver.”

“Eighty silver… This is almost what I make in two months.” He clutched the bag to his chest and stared at her. 

She smirked. “Tell me, Ascelin, that you cannot be bought.” 

“I—I can’t,” he admitted. 

“That’s right,” said the Patroness. “Eighty silver is your price, hm, Cub?” 

He looked down and swallowed. “Yes, My Lady. What did you buy me for?”

She set the dagger down on the vanity and placed her hands behind his neck, yanking him toward her. She pressed herself into him and kissed him. He whimpered, reciprocating before she threw him onto the street naked in a fit of rage as she had done once. 

Finally, she broke away from him. With her forehead touching his, she said, “You know what I want, Cub.” 

“But I can’t. You know I can’t,” he whispered.

She kissed him again. “Why not? I am twice as wealthy as all of them combined. You needn’t ever worry about money again. I’m tired of sharing you with those new-money scum.” 

“But if you abandon me, I will have nothing. That isn’t a risk I can take, my Lady.” 

The Patroness took him by the hands. “I will never abandon you.” 

_You’ve shown me many times that you will_ , Ascelin wanted to say. He wanted to walk away from this woman and return to the arena, but her claws were sunk deep into his life, and he couldn’t move without bleeding. 

“I want you to myself,” she said. “I want to share what I have with you, and you will never fight again. My home is yours, my wealth is yours, my heart is yours, so long as you are mine.” 

“But—”

She held up her hand, and he closed his mouth. “You needn’t make your decision now. I will give you a week to think. Let me show you what I want to give you while you make your decision. Come to the bathhouse with me, Cub. I want to show you how you are meant to be treated.” 

She retrieved her knife and slid it into its sheath, tucking the long, thin blade into her hair, silver to match her eyes. She seemed indifferent to her lips, painting them whatever color she pleased. It was striking purple today. She was foreign, from a frigid island nation called Madith, where grey eyes and hair and moon-pale skin were normal, but the only thing that was normal to Ascelin were her thin, dark brows, arched sharply to frame her eyes. 

He followed her mutely across her estate to her private bathhouse. It was empty today, which it rarely was. This woman was an infamous host, and the bathhouse was a favorite of her guests. Her stately mansion on the outskirts of Filmorn could be considered a city of its own, populated by party-goers that made the air reek of drink and piss. She opened her home to the public most of the time and let people do as they pleased, so long as they were wealthy enough to garner her attention, or in his case, infamous.

The Patroness always had a wing of her home cordoned off from the stream of guests that frequented her property but it seemed that today was a rare ‘quiet day,’ as she liked to call them. They had been involved with each other for two years now, and she had only ordered five of them. He was instantly on guard when he realized the mansion was empty. She could do anything to her, and there would be no one to see, not that anyone could stop her if she set her heart on something. 

He dropped his robe to his feet, trying to ignore the way she looked at him. Steam clung thickly to his skin as he lowered himself into the water. 

“Careful,” she chided as he nearly lost footing on the tiles. “The water is salted. Don’t allow it to soak through those bandages. I ordered the baths to be cleaned while you slept, but you may still be risking infection.” 

“Thank you, Lady Egrea,” he muttered. 

She flung off her own robe and joined him, sinking into the water just low enough to cover her breasts. She scanned his face as if she expected disappointment. He tried his best to imitate it before he angered her. 

“You’re being paid handsomely to do whatever you please for a week. Why do you look like you have so much on your mind?” she asked as she beckoned her servant girls to wash his hair and massage his scalp. 

He had woken up clean—most likely her doing—yet she kept ordering that he be cleaned again as if she could wash the touch of others from him. 

“I make eighty silver from fights in two months, but the arena makes eight hundred from just one of my matches. If I miss even one, that’s thousands of tickets and wagers gone,” he explained, wanting to shrink into himself when she laughed. 

“I forget that you’ve fought for two years without missing a single day. Don’t worry, I’ve paid the arena as well,” she assured, accepting a glass of wine from a servant. He gaped at her, and she added, “Fifty gold.” 

He could only stare for a moment until he recovered his voice. “Fifty gold?”

That was more money than he would see in five years, and she had the means to turn it over like it was nothing in exchange or a week of all but owning him. 

“Still don’t believe I won’t abandon you?” She smirked, and he couldn’t tell if she was twenty or fifty. “I’ve sunk quite a bit of money into you, but I have faith that you’ll be a good investment.” 

He bit his lip and said nothing. 

The Patroness sighed. She set down her glass and joined him on his side of the bath. She tilted his chin up, long nails scraping against his stubble. “Oh, you’re such a darling thing, Cub. If your uncertainty wasn’t so annoying, it would be cute.” 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. 

Her pale silver eyes canvassed his body. “Don’t look so offended. You are endearing no matter what.”

“Thank you, Lady Egrea.” 

They sat in the baths until his head was light from the steam. He watched the flowers float by, dipping his fingers in the perfumed water. It was slick with oils and salts. He tilted his head back, nauseous from the strength of the smells. 

She was surprisingly easy to talk to when they avoided the subject of her obsession over him. If it weren’t for the way she stared at him, he might have even been at ease. 

“I have a gift for you,” she whispered as his eyes began to drop. She had one arm around his back and another resting on his chest. She nodded to her attendant, and he brought them a small wooden box. 

His water-wrinkled hands could hardly keep a steady grip on the ebony wood. “What is it?”

“Open it and see.” 

He unlatched the box. Inside was an intricate multi-strand choker beaded with smooth emeralds. “Lady Egrea…” 

“I know, I know.” She grinned, taking the necklace from the box and clasping it shut behind his neck. It was tight, but not tight as to hurt him, just enough to remind him exactly what she wanted. “Doesn’t it bring out those emerald eyes of yours so well, my lovely? I commissioned it specifically for you from the finest jewelsmith in Filmorn.” 

“Yes, but how much did this cost?” His hands went to his throat, fingering the necklace. He could _smell_ the gold that she had spent buying it. “It’s not that I’m not grateful, I swear! But you shouldn’t waste so much on me. You’re too kind to me.” 

She chuckled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “That isn’t any of your concern, Cub. It looks good on you, that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you again,” he said. “You’re too generous, my Lady.”

“There is no such thing as too generous when it comes to you.” 

With nothing left to say, the Patroness stood. A maid rushed to her with a new robe. She attended as many of Ascelin’s fights as she could, and when she stood in the reserved box, she was always wearing the best finery that could be bought. But in her home, she was something of a minimalist. She wasn’t _entirely_ focused on appearances, so it would seem. 

“I have some business to attend to my study, some papers to sign. If you need me, you know where to find me.” She bent down and gave his hair a kiss. “Go eat. The kitchens are open to you always. Tell the cooks to prepare whatever you please.” 

“Yes, Lady Egrea,” he said, slipping a finger under the choker as the steam caused him more and more difficulty breathing. 

She tugged her knife from her hair, undoing the messy twist. It billowed over her shoulders, grey as the murky waters of the river that surrounded the city. “One more thing.” 

The Patroness unscrewed the hilt of the dagger from the blade. The contents of the hollow fell into her palm as she shook it, a small key, and a little canvas bag of some sort of powder. He couldn’t decide if it was a poison or a drug. Maybe both. She hastily shoved the bag back into the hilt and reattached it to the knife. 

He cursed himself for not realizing sooner why she was so attached to this particular knife. Whatever she kept in that bag was important. He couldn’t help but be curious as to what exactly she was so protective of, but he had learned young that asking questions was asking for punishment. 

She pressed the key into his hand. “This doesn’t open anything, but show this to any guard in the city, and they will open whichever door you please for you. Only the founders of the city had access to these, and only a few of those have survived. Wander the city if you want to. My staff will take you anywhere you ask.” 

He closed his fingers around it. She was an immigrant, she didn’t inherit this key from founder ancestors. She _bought_ it. He couldn’t bring himself to imagine how much it cost. 

As she walked away, she looked over her shoulder. “Have fun. And don’t lose that key. It was expensive.” 

_No shit_ , he thought to himself. She wouldn’t need to worry about him losing it. He didn’t want to go into Filmorn anyway. As much as he hated to admit it, this place was a sanctuary to him. 

  
  


Filmorn was a city built on an island in the Greywater Sea. It was more of a glorified lake than anything. He had traveled the western half of the world during his time as a mercenary slave. He knew what a sea looked like, and he hated this one. 

He was sitting on the stone-and-mortar wall that separated the Patroness’ garden from the rest of her estate, looking out into the Greywater as it was stained purple and yellow and red by the sunset. Technically, the mansion wasn’t a part of Filmorn. It was on the banks of the river, away from the over-populated island. The city seemed smaller from this distance, all the suffering within it reduced to the problems of another man. 

He could get used to this. If he just agreed to the Patroness’ terms, he could live like this every day.

No, it was too much of a risk. He wouldn’t allow himself to even consider it. But if he rejected her at the end of this week, would he lose her as a benefactor forever? Feelings aside, he couldn’t afford that. 

As much as he tried to stop himself from thinking about it, it _would_ be nice. A quiet life with a rich woman in a big house. It certainly beat fighting and killing and injuring himself in an arena until he was too old or too hurt to entertain any longer. He wouldn’t have to whore himself to the highest bidders to afford his little slum in Filmorn. The Patroness always offered him lavish payments for a night with him, and as much as he loathed accepting so much money he didn’t deserve, he was relying mostly on her charity. If he accepted her offer, all that wealth would be his, guilt-free. 

It was tempting, he couldn’t deny that. He also couldn’t deny the way his body answered her calls for him. She was beautiful, in her silver way. Out of all his sponsors, she was his favorite. He preferred her over the much older women who flocked to him, waving their money in front of his face, although she was at least a few years his senior. And he certainly preferred her over the men who sought his attention. 

He doubted he would ever find her as beautiful as his first love, Kalene, but she _was_ beautiful. No one could say otherwise without being accused of jealousy and bitterness. She had an elegant nose, perfectly curved lips, a slim and sculpted face, steely eyes that were just magnetic. She caught everyone’s attention with her Madithian hair and complexion, but there was something missing. Something stopping him from feeling the same way she did about him, although those feelings were threatening to blossom. 

“Cub!” came her voice from across the garden. 

Cub. Her nickname for him, born out of his title as a fighter. The Lion of Filmorn, nothing but a little cub to her. He had always found it a little bit ridiculous, not that he would bring it up to her. He almost liked it in a way. It was uniquely her own. No one else would dare call him Cub or Kitten unless they had a death wish, or at least, that was what the city thought of him. As merciful as he tried to be in and out of the arena, he couldn’t shake his reputation as a killer. 

He turned to see her standing on the steps leading into the mansion, dress fluttering in the wind. She had replaced the robe from earlier in the day to a blue-and-black number. It was effortlessly flattering on her, and just as simple. Kalene had always spent so much time worrying about how she looked, but the Patroness seemed not to even give it a thought. She seemed to know perfectly well how attractive she was. 

If Kalene’s father hadn’t sold his contract to another warlord, would he have been able to see her become someone like the Patroness? Someone confident, charismatic, focused on goals. They were only sixteen when they saw each other last. She was hardly the bold warlord’s heir she needed to be. 

Fuck. Even with another woman in front of him, willing to do anything to win him over, he couldn’t stop thinking of her. It had been five years. He needed to find some way to forget her, preferably without involving the drugs that stole his parents from him. 

The Patroness crossed the garden. “Cub, what’s on your mind?” 

As if she wasn’t wearing a dress at all, she climbed the wall to join him on his perch over her estate. She reached for his face, brushing his cheek with the pad of her thumb. 

“Nothing,” he said. “You look beautiful, Lady Egrea.” 

She let out a content sigh and kissed him on the cheek. “ _You_ are the most beautiful flower in my garden. What are you doing out here all alone?” 

He couldn’t help his blush. “I didn’t want to visit the city, so I sat out here for a few hours. I haven’t slept until noon in a few years, so I suppose I thought I had more time than I did before sunset.” 

She looked out on the Greywater. “It’s a lovely view.” 

“It is.” 

The Patroness tilted his head to lay on her shoulder. He allowed it, allowed himself to relax while she stroked his hair. She hummed a tune he recognized as a Madithian lullaby, but he didn’t know the words to it. 

He didn’t know how long they sat there, watching the sun dip below the horizon until the light disappeared from the sky entirely. She began pointing out stars and constellations, teaching him their names as if she didn’t know he would forget them the next morning. 

He didn’t know what he would do after this week. But he was beginning to think he would enjoy being hers. Maybe the risk was worth the reward, and her volatile nature had mellowed over the course of the years they had known each other. Maybe his luck was beginning to change.


End file.
